


tell me again (about how it hurts)

by packrat



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: B99 Fall 2019 Fic Exchange, Bisexual Characters, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Female Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I’m so sorry, Rejection, angsty, explodingsnapple, hope you enjoy!, it turned really really angsty, post coming out, sleuth sisters, thanksgiving family dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-09 00:23:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20844488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/packrat/pseuds/packrat
Summary: it’s Rosa’s first thanksgiving after coming out to her parents - it’s very angst loaded and centers mostly on Rosa’s journey of it allwritten for the fall fic exchange on tumblr for @exploding-snapple: I chose the prompt “Rosa's first Thanksgiving with her family (including her two sisters and their kids) since coming out“and combined it withRosa’s and Amy’s friendshipbecause they’re the sleuth sisters!I really hope you enjoy it!





	tell me again (about how it hurts)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [explodingsnapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/explodingsnapple/gifts).

> _“Coming out feels like you have no space to rest but everything around you is a bed. It is to watch your loved ones mistake the flowers on your tongue for high-power blades. And nothing you say will make the cuts heal faster but saying nothing, saying nothing will mean the cut stays a cut. Bloodstains the shape of mouths that will spell acceptance only as long as it is another’s daughter. My coming out was an apology repeating itself endlessly until it found out there was no forgiveness.”  
\- Swastika Jajoo_

* * *

When you got the text from your sister, asking if you’re going to be coming home this weekend for Thanksgiving you froze. For a second there, you stopped breathing and tried to push down the anxiety that rose at the thought of having to go back home. It made you sick but so did it from the first year you moved out. (Ever since you can remember really.)

_Returning home for Thanksgiving always goes something along the lines of this: all your family is there and everyone is asking you if you found a good guy yet (or alternatively they ask about Marcus or Adrian or Tom. They really liked Tom.) Seeing your sisters happily married with their husbands and all their children prancing about. Children that innocently view the whole house as their playground, running around without a sorrow on their mind. Without care or concern for the world around them. _

_And then there’s always been you: alone, different, isolated, alien. Always felt and forever feeling out of place in this house, in a world, that once had been _your_ playground._

You shuddered at the thought of returning home after what had happened only a few months prior: the restaurant and the shouting, family game night, more shouting (and shouting and shouting and shouting), your father coming to your work to apologize, your mother-- 

And once upon-a-time-family-game-nights. 

And _god_, the tears. Tears over tears over tears. Your mother’s words burning hot like acid on your skin. A constant reminder that maybe you truly are unloved. That maybe you don’t deserve the love of your family after all. 

You always dreaded any family gathering for that matter. The thought of having to hide who you are in front of the people that were supposed to know you since the beginning of time was just-- your family never talked much about anything anyway but this, this always felt different. In an unexplainable gut wrenching way. It makes you sick to your stomach. 

And in that moment you just wanted to throw your phone against the wall, scream and hide <strike>and cry</strike> (_no, you don’t cry_) and get drunk on tequila by yourself, then get on your motorbike and drive until there’s nowhere to go anymore. Maybe, you thought, you’d discover the end of the world. Maybe you’d just find happiness. Maybe you’d finally find peace. (Maybe you’d cry silent tears when no one else would be around for miles and miles. And maybe your tears wouldn’t be as silent as you made it out in your head. Maybe you’d scream all the pain away.)

You came out to your sisters just after you did to your parents. Since you got out of prison, after being wrongly convicted, it was your thing to meet at least once a month at your older sister’s home to catch up. Your sisters’ thing anyway. They started doing it years and years back. 

You remember how anxious you were to introduce them to Alicia, still not ready to do it on your own. To sit across your family and let them in on your deepest, darkest secret. You relive how the anxiety rose at the thought of telling them: “I’m bi and this my girlfriend” and when you did just that you instantly felt like running and running and hiding and cutting off contact with everyone and vanishing from the face of the earth. You recall Alicia’s soft fingertips on the back of your hand, softly caressing it in circular motions. Remember the warm embrace of your older sister, how you were pulled close by her and how the pad of a thumb softly wiped a tear away from your cheek. How you were embraced by the familiar smell of being safe. 

Sometimes you still regret being such a closed off person but it had always been easier this way. 

“There’s no need to cry, Rosalita”, she’d said “it’s okay. It’s all okay”, followed by the confession that their mother already called to tell them and that they got into a fight over it because it was not their mother’s place to go around and tell everyone about your life.

Followed by another hug. 

Followed by the admission that you had already come out to her when you were sixteen and had to be picked up from a house party for the first time. You had been drunk and crying all the way home and when you were asked why there were tears streaming down your face all you could say and repeat was “I’m bi and I know it’s wrong but I don’t know how to stop it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” before throwing up on your front lawn and then passing out as soon as you got into your bed. 

Your face had gone red instantly because you remembered that night vividly: sneaking off and getting drunk out of your mind because you realized you fell for your best friend. Hard. _Her luscious blonde hair and red lips. Her smile. The way she carried herself. You later on found out that she was falling for you as well. But then you graduated and moved to different parts of the country and calling daily became calling once a week became calling once a month became forgetting became silence. _ And you remember waking up in your own bed. And then there was the fact that your sister _had known_ for twenty years. And yet never told anyone.

At least you had them on your side. 

Your other sister had just been sitting there, observing the scene that was unfolding in front of her. She, too, smiled but she, too, wasn’t as good as dealing with emotions as your older sister. 

But them not hating you was enough for you. 

You got pulled out of your thoughts by a second text, subsequently realizing that you still hadn’t answered the first one yet. 

**Por supuesto, tu pareja también está invitada. Espero que sepas que está bien si aún no estás listo para verla. Sé que ha sido difícil para los dos. Solo sé que ella te quiere mucho. Y yo también. Estoy aquí por ti, hermana. Siempre.** (_Of course your significant other is invited as well. I hope that you know that it’s okay if you're not ready to see her yet. I know it’s been hard for the both of you. Just know that she loves you very much. And so do I. I'm here for you, sister. Forever._)

This time, you answered. 

**I’ll be there.**

* * *

And then there was the fact that Amy invited herself to join. 

(It definitely didn’t happen like this:

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

“I’m-- Okay im going to be honest. If you say something I am going to kill you. I have at least three different weapons on me right now. Not counting the work-issued gun. Understood?”

Amy just nodded, smiling. 

“I’m going to my parents’ house. And everyone’s going to be there and it’s my first year since coming out and - I can’t believe I’m going to say this - do you want to come? I know that you’re not going home this year. Or to Jake’s. Of course you don’t have to if-“

“No! Of course I’m gonna come. It’ll be great. I can finally learn about high school you Diaz. Maybe I’ll finally find out about the pink hair situa-“

“Okay no. I changed my mind. You can’t come.”

Amy just shrugged, grinning. “Too late. I’m coming and there’s nothing you can do about it.”)

(Secretly, you are more than thankful for Amy tagging along. It seems dumb to you but you still aren’t ready to face your family alone. And now you have _all_ your sisters on your side.)

* * *

That’s how you find yourself in the position you are in right now: sitting in the passenger seat of Amy’s car, riddled with anxiety, seemingly not able to muster up the courage to open the car door. Because once that door is open there’s no going back. If you are looking at all of this realistically you _know_ that your family knows you’re here. They must have spotted you by now. 

Suddenly, there’s a hand on your hand and when you look up you’re met with Amy’s brown eyes and an encouraging smile. “Do you want to leave? We can leave right now if you want to”, she asks, her voice laced with sincerity and concern. 

You contemplate it for a second but then shake your head. “Just-- one more minute.” 

Thankfully, Amy doesn’t question you and you resume staring at the door handle in silence. Then, you hear the drivers’ door open, feel the weight of the car shift and hear the drivers’ door close again. And then your side opens and Amy is holding out her hand to you. “Come on. You-- we can do this. I’m right by your side and we can leave at any second, no follow up questions.”

Inhaling deeply, you take your friend’s hand and get pulled out of the vehicle. Instantly, all you want is to return back into the safety of the car and hide. And while one door closes behind you, the front door of your childhood home opens up. 

You hear the old wooden door creak open and you hope it’s your mother waiting to greet you like she did every day after school. When the smell of freshly cooked food would greet you from all the way down the street and nothing had been broken (yet). When everything seemed to be <strike>more</strike> alright. When there were secrets standing in between you. When you thought of your mother’s love as something unconditional, unbreakable but deep down knew that this was just part of your imagination because otherwise you would’ve told her. 

You gulp at the realization. 

Instead of your mother a boy of maybe thirteen years of age comes barreling towards you. 

“_Tía Rosa!_”, he shouts excitedly before almost crashing into you. You let go of Amy’s hand just in time to catch the boy. “I thought you wouldn’t come. I’ve been waiting _all_ day for you!”

And for the first time since you woke up that day, you smile. “Alex! I’m here now, aren’t I?” 

“I have so much to tell you-“, he starts rambling while pulling you inside the house, Amy following closely behind. 

Once inside, you are immediately embraced by your father’s strong arms. “I missed you, _mija_”, he admits and then turns to Amy: “Good to see you again, Amy”, before briefly hugging her as well, directing the next sentences to both of you: “You don’t have to help in the kitchen, come and sit with us in the living room”, while already walking into the general direction of it. 

That makes you stop dead in your tracks. “I always help in the kitchen. Why am I not supposed to now?” you observe Oscar freezing in his spot but he doesn’t give you an answer. 

And you know it’s because your mother doesn’t want to see you. And the feeling of ‘I shouldn’t have come’ creeps up your throat. You want to scream at him and at her but instead you calmly ask: “Is it because _Mamí_ is in there and she doesn’t want me to help?”

You still don’t get an answer. 

“It is, isn’t it?”

Oscar slowly turns around, face in agony. He runs his right hand through his hair. “Listen _mija_, she still-- hasn’t figured it out. And it’s not that she doesn’t want you in there it’s just--“

“- that she doesn’t want me there. Or here, I suppose. Great. I understand”, you complete his sentence after a few seconds of silence. You turn to Amy. “This was a bad idea. We should go.” You then proceed to walk back to the front door, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. _You’re not going to cry here. In front of your father. In front of everybody._

In that moment the kitchen door opens and your older sister steps out. Her head is still turned to the kitchen as she finishes the conversation. “- I know! I’ll be right back!” And when she turns, her eyes are met with yours. 

“Ro-Ro!”, she exclaims smiling and it sets something off in you and you feel the tears starting to stream down your face. Your older sister hurries to you to embrace you and you hide your face in her sweater.. “No need to cry”, she jokes and then leans in and whispers “you wanna go outside?”

You nod, face still buried in your sister’s neck. 

She then turns to Amy, smiling. “You must be Amy. Would you mind helping in the kitchen?” 

You can’t help but chuckle through the tears and imagine that Amy blushes furiously. “I’m really bad in the kitchen so it would be a really bad idea. Everything I touch turns into something inedible. I might accidentally burn the house down in the process”, she explains while your sister leads you out the door. 

“You could still join us in the living room”, is what you hear your father suggest before the door closes behind you. 

You settle down on the steps of the front porch, neither of you talking. You rest your head on your sister’s shoulder and she lightly tangles her fingers in your curls. 

“I’m really glad you came”, your sister admits quietly, breaking the comfortable silence. “It’s all going to be alright someday.”

You chuckle bitterly. “Everyone seems to say that. But it really doesn’t look like it. And I’m really scared it never will be again.” Your voice breaks at the last few words. There’s tears streaming down your face again. 

After about ten more minutes of silence, your sister gets up from the steps again. “I have to get back to helping. You know how _Mamí_ is. She’ll-- She’ll come around eventually, Ro. Just give her some more time, okay?” 

You nod. 

You don’t know what you’re supposed to say when you know the things you are promised might just be someone saying something in the spur of the moment. And doesn’t mean it. Just a bunch of empty words promising healing, but they’re empty inside. So you don’t say anything. “Do you want me to bring Amy?”, your sister asks instead. You shake your head. 

“I’ll be right in.”

As soon as the front door closes again, you are hit by another wave of sadness and tears. Before all of this happened you never knew you could cry this much in one day. You just want to be alone in your apartment and get drunk and hide under your covers in the dark and reread the text exchange between Alicia and yourself.

Alicia. 

You hadn’t thought about your ex-girlfriend in days. 

You miss Alicia. Miss the warmth she provided and the arms holding you tight at night when the nightmares of prison were haunting you again. Miss her smooth skin and soft melodic voice. Miss her every time you lay in the bed that now feels too big for one single person. Miss her laugh and waking up next to her. Miss how you could be your true, vulnerable self around her. Miss her

You miss Alicia and your mother. Your mother that’s no ten meters away from you but doesn’t want to see you. 

And it hurts. 

“Why are crying?”, Alex’s voice suddenly asks. “You’re too badass to cry.” He frowns as if he only realized in that second that he can’t quite put his finger on what exactly was wrong. You wipe the tears off your face in a hurry before being handed a tissue by your nephew. 

“Well, everything feels different now,'' you admit without thinking and sigh. “_Mamí_ isn’t talking to me and it’s weird, y’know? I’m not allowed in the kitchen and just being here feels _wrong_.” There’s a short period of silence, Alex waiting for you to finish. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“You should have because I wanted to see you. I missed you. We all did. Is it because of the fight you had with Grandma?” 

You wonder how he knows about this and how he’s so compassionate for his age. And how considerate he is. Your sister did a great job raising him, you think. You contemplate if telling him would be the right thing to do but the words tumble out of your mouth before you can come to a decision. “Yeah. Because I told her I am bisexual. Do you know what that means?” 

To your surprise, Alex nods in understanding. “Of course I do. Mom explained it all to me when I was like nine”, he tells you as if you should have been aware of him knowing. As if he was stating the obvious. _Of course he knows. His mom talked to him about it._ You’re both quiet for a moment until Alex adds: “I think I am, too, actually. Bisexual, I mean.”

_’Okay, cool cool cool cool cool’_, you think. “When did you realize?” You hate being asked this question but it’s the only thing coming to your mind right now.

“Easy. I was watching _Cloak & Dagger_ and I thought _Dagger_: hot. _Cloak_: also hot.”

You have to laugh. “Have you ever seen _Saved By The Bell?_”, Alex shakes his head. “We definitely have to watch it! You’ll love it.” You didn’t realize how close he’d been all of a sudden until he hugs you tightly. 

“You’re the coolest, Rosa. And I’m glad you came even though Grandma isn’t talking to you. I like hanging out with you, you’re like my hero. I mean Mom knows about me maybe being bi but it’s cool to have you to talk to about it. It was cool hanging out with you before already but now it’s even cooler.”

You don’t know what to say so you pull him closer. 

_Hero._ It leaves a bitter aftertaste of responsibility in your mouth. But it's one you’re ready to take on. 

It’s quiet between you until Alex mumbles ”I don’t want Grandma to hate me, too.” And you’re pretty sure you weren’t supposed to hear that. But you did. And your heart feels like it’s shattering into a million tiny pieces at his admission.

_“She doesn’t hate you”, you want to say. “She doesn’t really hate either of us. It’s just hard on her. I get that. It’s always different when it’s your own family.”_ But you know it’s just a lot of empty words strung together so instead you pull him even closer and say “Yeah, I know exactly how you feel. You’ll always have your mother and me though.”

He nods solemnly before asking her “Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?”, and you sigh. 

“I had. But we broke up last week because she got offered a place to study in London. She left yesterday morning.”

Alex just nods.

You feel the wind harshly touch your skin and you realize that neither of you wears a jacket. After observing the goosebumps forming on your arm for a second you suggest to head inside in a desperate attempt to change the subject. “I’m freezing!”, you add for good measure. 

Alex jumps to his feet and follows you inside and you’re immediately embraced by the warmth of the house. 

By now you made peace with the idea of having to spend the remainder of the evening with your dad and Amy and your sisters’ husbands and kids in the living room. 

What you dont expect when you turn the corner though, is to encounter your mother in the living room, animatedly chatting away with Amy, who is surrounded by the younger children. 

It’s the first time you’ve seen her since the futile game of Pictionary, where you had to explain to your parents that being bisexual is a thing because you are it. And them telling you that it’s a phase and you’ll marry a man and have loads of children with him. 

When you dare to step into the room, everything suddenly quiets down and the tension is palpable. You feel like choking the second you make eye contact with your mother and you’re aware of your heart starting to race and your palms getting sweaty. 

And you can’t breathe anymore. 

“_Mamí_”, you force out, your voice laced with pain. “_Lo siento. Te extraño. Por favor perdoname.” (Mom, I’m sorry. I miss you. Please forgive me.)_ You don’t know what she should forgive you for because it should be the other way around, her seeking your forgiveness but all you want is to hear her speak and take you into her arms. 

And make peace. 

Your mother looks at you and you can clearly see the tears in her eyes. The struggle within herself is visible even across the room. 

It looks like her left foot wants to step towards you and the right one further away. Like her right hand wants to reach out and her left one wants to reach away. She takes a step towards you and then, without a word, she turns away again and disappears back into the kitchen. 

You stand there, still, petrified in place for what feels like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds. You feel your nephew hugging you tight, feel his pain translate into your body. The ringing in your ears gets louder and you are starting to feel dizzy. And then Amy is grabbing your hand. Your father is trying to apologize to you but you can’t hear him over the alarm bells going off in your head. You can just barely make him out through the blurriness of your eyes. 

Amy leads you to her car and you get in, woodenly, staring ahead into emptiness. You feel Amy reaching over your body to buckle you in and then she’s driving. 

And then she’s not. 

And then you cry. 

You cry and cry and cry while your friend holds your hand and you sit in silence until you’re all cried out. She drives you home and you get drunk on various kinds of liquor together. When Amy reaches her Six-Drink-Potential you tell her about Alicia and how you miss your mother and she tells you about her struggles while you and her fiancé were in prison. 

You fall asleep on the living room floor where Jake finds you the next day. He laughs at the scene in front of him, taking pictures and sending them to the work group chat. You try to smile and mean it. That’s all you can do for now.

(It takes you almost six months, a particularly gory case that entails the persistent mother of the victim which reminded you so much of the relationship you had to have with your mother and the tenacity of both your best friend and your current girlfriend respectively until you muster up the courage to call your mother and ask her to meet you at the precinct after work. 

She agrees.)


End file.
